


The Birds Have Been Singing at Night

by KaelsMiscellany



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Breeding Kink, D/s elements, Dark, Dubious Consent, F/M, Knotting, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-17 19:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9339029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: On the night of a full moon Lydia escapes her home and enters the woods in search of something she's long wanted. Only to find so much more





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, just to show you how long I've been working on this thing...this first part was originally going to be a one-shot sequel to Cicurate...yeah...It didn't become Pydian until about a year ago, where it then grew into the five part fic. But I didn't actually get around to finishing it until recently; the idea of posting it for Peter Hale ship week finally kicking my ass in gear. (fitting the Dark theme for today, also the AU theme tomorrow, and... xD)
> 
> Thanks to Catvampcrazines for the beta assist, she's the best.
> 
> The title and epigraphs come from Lord Huron, the title specifically from "The Birds Are Singing At Night", epigraphs list their respective songs.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I took a little journey to the unknown,  
>  and I come back changed I can feel it in my bones.  
>  \- “Meet me in the Woods”

Clutching the soft woolen cloak closer to her Lydia glances around furtively, she's tried to be as quiet as possible, but there's still the possibility that her creeping has awoken her parents. An idea that terrifies her, she has no explanation as to how she got out of her room, or what she's doing stealing into the woods, something she used to do all the time as a child before her door was always locked.

So with bated breath she lingers on the porch, ears attuned to any noise that might be of human origin.

Her heart starts to slow when, over the course of the next few minutes, she hears no such sounds. With the same amount of care as she'd put into exiting her home she starts making her way towards the woods. Once more her heart begins to race, but for an altogether different reason.

For tonight is the night she will finally seduce the werewolf who skulks about town.

Once past the treeline she moves quicker, now doing nothing to conceal her presence. The reverse actually, going out of her way to make as much noise as possible to attract his attention as she goes even deeper into the trees.

It's difficult to make out the moon, but she still manages to tell that at least an hour has passed since she entered and some of her eagerness begins to drain. Part of her wants to scream in annoyance; she finally manages to escape the clutches of her home and she can't find him. It's the cruelest of jokes and it cuts her to the core.

With a heavy heart she turns to start the long trudge home, knowing that it'll be much harder for her to escape next time if she's caught.

A twig cracks, and it takes her mind longer than it should to realize she's not the cause of that sound. She doesn't freeze, but she does still; her heart picking up again as she waits for another sound. Something rumbles in the forest and it's like she's been pinched. She willingly gives into the primal urge in her demanding she run.

Exhilaration follows on the tail of the adrenaline rushing through her. The world seems sharper around her, she can hear the glorious frantic beating of her heart and just barely above that, the sound of something chasing after her. She nearly laughs in joy.

Despite her best efforts it's catching up to her. Finally crashing into her halfway through a small clearing. For a few moments the weight above her is stifling, almost too much to bear. Then it lessens and she can feel hot breath ghosting against her cheek.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” His voice is dark, rich, and husky.

Even though his weight's on her completely she can barely feel him through the thickness of her cloak. She wriggles and twists, trying to get any sensation she can and failing miserably. The whine that rips from her shocks her with its neediness.

The werewolf chuckles, revealing her face as his hands pull back her hood. “Why, it's a girl.” His voice is full of mock-surprise. He leans closer. “Don't you know there are dangerous things out in the woods at night? Or do you just not care? Hmmmm?”

“And what if I don't care?” Her delivery’s a smidge shaky but she sounds like her usual biting self.

Warm arms encircle her and begin to turn her around. “Maybe I should show you why they tell little girls like you not to go into the woods.”

There are the faintest wisps of red in his bright blue eyes and it does strange things to her insides. Everyone's warned her about the monster in the woods, but she's not afraid. Lydia Martin isn't afraid of anything. She juts her chin up as best she can. “I could take you.”

His smile is all teeth. “Oh really?” His hands begin to part her cloak. “And how, dear little red, were you planning on doing that.”

She doesn't say anything, just watches him as the cloak spreads out beneath her.

“My. How scantily clad you are.”

Lydia bites back her laugh. “All the better to seduce you with.”

He laughs. “So you think you can do what no one else has, do you?” He shifts slightly, becoming more animalistic. “I am no tame dog to sit at your feet and play fetch, little girl.” Very sharp teeth scrape against her neck, and she can feel the small furrows they leave. “I am a wolf.”

Said teeth bite her, not enough to break skin, but enough to hold her in place. A warning should she misbehave. Clawed hands make quick work shredding her diaphanous nightgown. One of those clawed hands makes its way down to her slit and barely dips in. He pulls away from her neck. “I think I misjudged you; little girls don't have dirty thoughts that bring on this.” The claws are gone as two of his fingers sink in. She moans.

“Have you thought about fucking a wolf? Have you gotten yourself off with your parents in the next room wondering what it would feel like?” His thumb flits across her clit and she mewls. “Did you orgasm when you thought about me being stuck in you for hours where anyone could see?”

She lets loose another pitiful whine as he pulls out. Though she stares entranced as he begins licking his fingers clean. “Well have you my delicious little fawn?”

“Yes,” she gasps out; her body pushing up against him, trying to get anything. The hand he'd licked clean drifts back down to her stomach and pushes her back down. Separating them.

“Ah, ah, ah. We'll be having none of that my wanton fawn.” His free hand brushes against her cheek, pushing aside a few strands of hair. “I've seen you watching me when I come into town you know.” His tone is far too conversational for their situation and she wants to scream. As if sensing this his hand covers her mouth, cutting off any sound she might make. “I've smelt arousal on you like spices on a fine cut of meat. It's so thick I'm surprised you haven't come here before to try and lure me.”

Finally, finally, he ruts against her. Almost, but not quite, what she needs. His hand uncovers her mouth. “My parents,” and she can't believe that breathy voice is hers. “They’ve been locking me in my room at night since I started bleeding. I only managed to steal the key this afternoon.”

He nuzzles her cheek, and it feels like he's almost comforting her. “Poor, poor, little fawn. You're not used to being denied are you? I've seen you cut those that displease you to shreds using only words.” Again he pushes down. “You would blush down to your toes if you knew what that did to me.”

And she is blushing, because no one has ever said anything like that to her. The boys that usually surround her only ever say how beautiful she is, how demure. But what's above her is most definitely not a boy. “Please.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Please what? Please fuck you? Finally give you what you've been craving since you started bleeding and became a woman? Take you like the beast you so clearly want to be?”

She tries to push up but his hand won't budge. “All of it, any of it. Just...Please.”

His eyes glow red. And she gives a small sigh of delight when both his hands move down to spread her legs. The smile he gives her should spark fear, but it does nothing but make her burn all the more. “I wonder what you'll beg for next?”

With one powerful thrust he's in her completely. He's stretching her more than she thought he would and before she can even speak he begins pounding into her; her words become a helpless moan.

He doesn't seem to care at all about giving her pleasure, just taking what she offered. But she can feel that strange thing at the base of his cock, and on particularly deep thrusts it brushes against all the right places and she bucks up trying to get more of it.

“So greedy,” he snarls, sounding more like a wolf with every syllable. He's reduced her down to whimpers and mewls but she can't find it in herself to even be angry.

A branch crackles, and they freeze. No no! She can't be found, not when she’s so close! Not when she's about to get everything that she's ever wanted.

The werewolf's ears twitch as he looks around, clearly trying to pinpoint the sound. Not that he needed to have bothered, because seconds later one of the foresters comes stumbling into their little clearing.

The three of them stare at each other in silence; a horrid shock passes through Lydia when she realizes she knows this forester: he comes into the village rarely but when he does the girls all sigh over his light-dark hair and earnest green eyes. She herself doesn't find him unhandsome, but he's not the wolf.

“Wh...what?” His voice is tremulous, and as she watches him she notices his pupils grow to nearly swallow those sigh-worthy greens of his. A dark flush creeps up his neck as he notices their...joined state. “Why?” His fingers fumble with a pouch on his belt.

But before he can grab anything the werewolf leaps off her, eliciting a whimper of displeasure, and bounds towards the man. Who scrambles back, attempting to escape, but the wolf pins him to the ground before he gets too far.

Lydia pants, extremely frustrated, as she remains lying on her cloak watching them. The wolf has his claws digging into the forester's cheeks, enough to draw blood. He tuts. “Bad idea, to go wandering the woods on a full moon. Especially when it means interrupting my fun.” His claws dig deeper. “Maybe I should kill you now.”

A little flutter of shock goes through her at the wolf's words, and he turns a little to look at her. “What do you say little fawn? If I killed him right in front of you would you still want me? If I bathed myself in his blood and smeared it all over you would I still find you wet?”

She’s always thought herself a good girl, save for her sexual proclivities, but even still the wolf's words fuel dark things in her. Things that would surely see her hanged if anyone found out. Not that this tryst is any different.

But the wolf doesn't give her a chance to answer, instead turning his attention back on the forester. “But I can be magnanimous.” He forcefully turns the other's head. “Isn't my little fawn beautiful? Instead of a last meal, she could be your last fuck.” The wolf leans down and sniffs at the forester's jaw, and Lydia can't help it: one of her hands drifts down and starts teasing her slit. “Or maybe your only fuck, a virgin woodsman? There's a laugh.”

Lydia finds herself paying less attention to them as she tries to bring herself to orgasm, but now that she's had a taste of the werewolf she finds her own fingers are lacking in their usual talent.

As if he can sense her frustration the wolf chuckles. “Look at her, laid out and waiting for you like a feast. Maybe I should tie you up, teach you how to properly take a woman to start. Granted, I would have great amusement watching you fumble about first, then maybe I could demonstrate afterward.” His grip on the man's jaw loosens. “Consider it my boon to you, but only if you say yes.”

She can feel the forester's eyes devour her pale naked body and it shoots a surprising bolt of arousal through her. “Yes,” it comes out a shuddering moan, one that heats her belly. “Please.”

For a moment the wolf does nothing, as if reconsidering his offer, but then he leaps into action tearing at the forester's clothes until he's as naked as Lydia. She can't hold back a moan as she watches the wolf sniff down the other man's body, giving a firm nip to his side. “Have at her then.” The wolf takes a few steps away, red eyes watching the two of them intently.

The forester shakily gets up and staggers over to her—in the pale light of the moon she can see he’s already hard, cock swaying as he walks and, she gives a pleased sigh—falling to his knees beside her. His hands bracket her shoulders as he leans over her a little. “My name's Jordan,” she thinks it sweet that he introduces himself, but she just wants a cock inside her again.

So instead of replying she reaches up and yanks him down for a kiss, causing him to fall on top of her in the process. He's not as heavy as the wolf, but it's a good amount of pressure; his kiss, however, is a little nervous and hurried. Which won't do at all.

She pulls away, amused when he tries to chase after her, but she stops him. “No, like this.” Leaning up a little further she kisses him again, nibbling on his bottom lip for a brief moment, before her tongue soothes it; she laps at the seam of his closed mouth twice before insistently beginning to press her tongue in. He makes a surprised noise, which allows her to slip in fully, tongue teasing and playing with his own. A moan vibrates through her mouth seemingly all the way down to her slit, causing her to buck up against him in the hopes of stimulation.

Without conscious thought her hands begin drifting down, when they wrap around his cock he moans again, sending another jolt of heat through her. She starts to maneuver it towards her entrance when a growl from the wolf cuts through everything.

They freeze and almost as one turn towards the wolf, his bloody red eyes stare at them for a tense heartbeat before he finally speaks. “Don't do his job for him little fawn, if he wants to be in you he's going to have to put it in himself.”

She whines in protest, but dutifully lets go; her hands moving to grasp at his shoulders. Breaking their kiss she pants to try and catch her breath. “Please, I need...”

One of his hands moves from beside her shoulder to start sliding down her side, stopping to languorously play with her breast—for a man who might die soon he seems to be taking his sweet time—which isn't what she quite wants but it's pleasurable all the same.

Finally his hand leaves her breast and skims down her stomach, but it grows hesitant when it slides between her legs. To try and embolden him she parts them wide, giving him all the access he could ever want. The wolf, who sounds much closer than he did before, rumbles in approval. Jordan's hand just rests on her for a while, clearly having no clue what to do next. She gives a whine of frustration at not being able to help him.

The wolf chuckles and she feels him sit down next to the two of them. His hand follows the same path as Jordan's quickly coming to rest on top of the forester's nervous hand. “Like this,” the wolf rumbles. He slides his fingers in between the other man's and guides them; both middle fingers tease her opening and she sighs, spreading her legs painfully wide to spur them on.

It works wonderfully, and she watches avidly as Jordan's expression changes. The wolf shifts so he's standing closer to the other man. “Isn't it wonderful? Imagine that clutching and holding your cock.” As if to emphasize his words his free hand wraps around Jordan's cock tightly and gives a jerk, Lydia's mouth waters at the sight. “It'll be warm and soft, and velvet smooth and only seeks to make you spill into it long and hard.” Inside her both fingers shift up and down, just barely teasing her g-spot. She gladly lets herself moan hoping they'll do it again.

They don't, in fact their fingers slide out, she glares at them but the wolf only snaps his teeth at her. “Don't worry my dear, soon your sweet little sheath will have richer fare.” The wolf and Jordan's hands are still entwined and the wolf raises them to Jordan's mouth, “suck them clean.” His tone brooks no argument and she finds herself moaning along with Jordan as the two fingers slip into his mouth. “If you're good I might just use that mouth of yours like I'll use her slit when you're done.”

Soon the saliva covered fingers are removed and the wolf is pulling back a little. “Now take that cock of yours in hand and thrust it into her,” Jordan looks apprehensive. “Oh don't be shy.” The wolf reaches down and plays with his own cock, proudly showing off to the both of them. “She was taking this quite handily when you showed up, and don't be afraid to get rough. Our dear fawn will gladly take whatever you decide to give her.”

Still Jordan's actions are hesitant again as his spit covered hand reaches down to grab his cock while his other reaches out fingers sliding in and splitting her lips open, revealing completely her twitching passage. In encouragement she digs her nails into his shoulders. “Fill me, please.”

Which eggs him on enough that she soon feels his head press in, his movements are agonizingly slow though and she can't stand it. A hand leaves Jordan's shoulders to reach towards the werewolf, “help.”

But he just crouches there, still grasping his own cock, red eyes glittering avidly.

Inch by agonizingly slow inch Jordan slides into her, oh he might fill and stretch her in wonderfully wicked ways, but she only wishes he would do it harder. Since the wolf is content to have Jordan do what he will her hand returns to his shoulder and digs in once more. “Harder,” she grits out, clenching herself tightly in the hopes he will use more force to push deeper.

He does, but it's still slow. When he fills her completely she nearly cries out in relief, maybe now he will start doing what she wants; but then he begins to pull out, just as achingly slow as he pushed in and she makes a noise of frustration. He leans down as he begins sliding back in again, a little shiver passes through her as she feels his breath across her jaw, he lingers by her ear for a moment before speaking. “Patience is a virtue.”

She nearly wails, and if she didn't like his cock so much—even in spite of its body's pacing issue—she would be giving him a tongue lashing the likes of which he had never experienced before. Her eyes shift slightly, to see how the wolf is enjoying his show, only to notice that he is gone, there is a brief flutter of panic, he can't leave, not until she gets what she wants, and then...

Jordan makes a choked, strangled sound and tenses. Curious she peers down his back, the wolf's clawed hands each hold one of the forester's ass cheeks and are pulling them apart, the wolf's eyes are staring intently at what she realizes must be the man's anus. A shiver passes through her. She's heard tales of how men have sex with each other, but nothing more than that; she wants to know what she would feel watching the werewolf force himself into an opening that must be even smaller and tighter than herself, she wants to know what poor Jordan would do. Would he cry? Would he try and fight the wolf off? Or would he enjoy it? Making whines and whimpers not unlike her own as he played the ‘woman’s’ part.

Instead though the wolf brings his face down and moments later she hears a wet slurping noise; Jordan cries out, a sound that is part-protest part-pleasure, and thrusts into her hard enough that she sees stars. Which makes her let loose a small cry of her own, though this one of pure delight. And if the wolf pays no mind to the forester's noise, hers seems to spur him on; much to her satisfaction.

For now doomed Jordan is driving into her with abandon, and while he might not have the knot of the wolf, he's thick enough that she still finds herself stretched.

His hands move from her hips around to the small of her back, tilting her up in such a fashion that he hits her g-spot every time he pulls out. Soon she's crying out softly as her orgasm crashes upon her, all the more engulfing for being so delayed. But still Jordan wildly thrusts into her while the wolf teases with his tongue.

For a heart-stopping second Jordan freezes, arching she peers down his shoulder again to see the wolf's face has moved away, only to be replaced by his hand; as she watches he easily seems to slip a finger inside, expertly twisting his hand before pulling it up a little and like that Jordan is coming inside her, hot sperm filling her up and racing towards her womb—even though she knows it’s her fertile time she's still willing to risk everything to have the wolf be hers for at least a night. She wonders if she might be dragging one of them to the altar in a few months, and which one it would actually be. Or if the wolf would even come at all.

Jordan’s still coming inside her when he's gone, before she can even complain about his lack or wonder what happened the wolf is upon her once more, spreading her legs far wider than they have any right to go and thrusting in hard enough that it sends a smaller orgasm rippling through her, making him fight to pull out even an inch. She gives a happy mewl as he moves in again, taking her harder even than Jordan and it's glorious. Clawed fingers prickle her hips and she can feel the knot on his cock teasing her, but not quite entering her.

The wolf leans down his breath desperately hot against his ear. “I can smell that you're fertile you know.” For all that he's rutting her his tone doesn't even belie that. “And I know you're going to catch tonight, even if you have to fuck every man in town.” A little whimper escapes her, she doesn't want every man in town, she wants this wolf, and Jordan—his inexperience works in her favor. She can train him to do as she wishes. The wolf rumbles. “But it won't take every man will it? Oh no, the two of us will be plenty enough.” He punctuates this with his hardest thrust yet, and she swears that for a second the head of his cock kissed the entrance to her womb. “You know, I feel a little inclined to let poor Jordan live, make him watch as you grow round with child, my child. Because you wouldn't dare to have any child but mine would you little fawn?”

She wants to answer, but she can't so caught up in the sensations the wolf is giving her.

“No, of course not.” He thrusts in again, and finally, finally his knot pushes in swelling up even more now that it's in her. The wolf snarls and even more come begins to fill her, enough that she happily fears she will be leaking it for weeks. His eyes feel like they should burn her as they stare down at the place where they are joined. “See my little wanton fawn, you're already bulging.” A thumb reaches out to gently brush her slightly swollen belly, and she finds herself turning so red she doesn't think she'll ever pale again; she didn't think it was possible for two men to create that much semen.

He slumps onto her, crushing her in a most enjoyable way. His nose brushes her cheek almost gently. “I can already smell it happening.”

A pitiful sound rents the night, and for a moment she thinks it came from her—even though she’s never been that loud in her life. Except it happens again and she realizes it must be Jordan. She turns her head to see him, one of his hands gripping his once again hard cock, hips thrusting as he tries to relieve himself.

The wolf chuckles, his breath raising gooseflesh on her. “Well my fawn, after you and I part, shall I do him as I did you?” His teeth set themselves in her ear for a second. “Shall we see how prettily he’ll beg to be taken? How wide I can force that tiny hole of his?”

Oh gods, her nails scramble across the wolf’s back as she feels her walls ripple and clench. “Like that idea do you?” As if in perverse reward his hand drifts down and teases her clit, but only for a second before she watches him begin to sit up, dragging her with him by virtue of their joining and once again she finds herself blushing profusely; briefly she damns her pale skin for giving her away so easily. Not that the wolf seems to care, or much notice perhaps.

Sitting on his lap like this changes the angle of him inside her, the head of his bestial cock now kissing the entrance to her womb again. “Come here,” his words, louder than his usual murmurs catches of guard and her heart briefly races.

Moments later Jordan is there, eyes still dilated near-completely, and his chest heaving as his breath bellows in and out of him. She watches entranced as one of the wolf’s clawed hands rises up and weaves itself into Jordan’s hair. “You know, I believe I shall let you live. Considering how sweet you were to my fawn. And so I feel it’s my duty to show you how best to please a woman. Except, well…” the wolf drifts off suggestively, as his other hand massages her abdomen for a second, making her acutely feel his knot. But she also feels a mixture of curiosity and fear at his words. After all, how could there be a better way to please her than this?

“The only woman here is...tied up at the moment,” the wolf sounds darkly amused by his own words. “Still, that doesn’t mean you can’t try.” His hand on her slides around her waist and up her back, until it’s acting as a brace between her shoulderblades. “Lean back a little fawn.”

Trusting him far more than she should, she does, her soft cries of pleasure as the shift brings his knot pressing incessantly against her g-spot. “That’s it,” the wolf croons, whether to her or to Jordan, who’s head is being lowered into the space now between her and the wolf.

“Go slowly, the key here is variety,” the wolf instructs, almost patiently. “That little button of hers might be the most sensitive spot, but don’t ignore the rest of her either. In fact,” she feels the moment Jordan’s mouth touches the place she and the wolf are joined, his warm breath ghosting across her sensitive flesh. “Be a good man and clean us up.”

Lydia finds herself biting her lip to keep her cries at Jordan’s first tentative lick inside. The wolf gives a few more soft instructions, but she’s heedless of them, more focused on this thing she didn’t know was possible; let alone with a woman and two men.

Despite his tentative beginnings, by the time she’s orgasming again—she’s had so many now that she’s lost track of them—he’s moving surely, his tongue lapping at her and the wolf with broad strokes that touch them at the same time.

Her eyes widen in surprise when the wolf’s claws dig into her back and with a grunt he spends in her again, not as copiously as the first time, but she had thought him empty.

Looking down she briefly catches a glimpse of some of the wolf’s semen managing to leak its way out past his knot. But then Jordan’s head is there blocking her view, though it doesn’t stop her from hearing his moans as he licks it up.

It goes on for a full half an hour, not that Lydia’s keeping track by the end; so blissed out with pleasure that she can’t even be bothered to think about what’s going on, let alone the time.

Still, she feels it acutely when the wolf’s knot begins to deflate and he slides out. Though it’s accompanied by pleasure when Jordan’s mouth and nose get shoved right into her distended lips and the wolf instructs him to eat her.

A few seconds afterwards Jordan’s own sounds of pleasure are added to the mix and through heavy lidded eyes she looks to see the wolf’s got Jordan’s neglected cock in hand, massaging it firmly until the wolf’s own mouth descends onto the head of it; a sight that, coupled, with Jordan’s minstrations, has her orgasming once more.

So much so that she blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting a chapter a day, so see you tomorrow!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know that love is like ghosts  
>  Oh and the moonlight baby shows you what’s real  
>  …  
>  I want ours to be an endless song   
>  Baby in my eyes you do no wrong  
>  \- “Love Like Ghosts”

Jordan awakes with a start, shivering violently in the morning cold. His gaze darts around, wondering how he ended up in the middle of the forest, naked and aching.

_...a man’s, no the wolf’s, blunt finger pressing itself insistently against a place Jordan had never thought of as sexual before. It’s almost too much for him to deal with and he takes it out on the writhing form of Lydia Martin, pounding into her just as hard as she’d demanded he do earlier._

_Finally that finger gets in, and it’s twisting, and moving, and pressing against something Jordan hadn’t even known existed. Just like that he’s orgasming for the first time that night, while Lydia whimpers softly in bliss beneath him…_

_...oh._

Now his body feels hot all over and he squirms in discomfort at the sensations racing through him, although it’s hard not to notice the way his prick grows and swells as he recalls all of the wretched things he’d done last night.

By the time the parade of memories has ended his whole cock is red from disuse, the slit in his head weeping pre-come copiously. He squirms again, flushing in guilt and embarrassment as his hand drifts down to grasp his cock, recalling how the wolf had been so much firmer with it than Jordan had ever been the times he’d been needy enough to give in. The heat of the other male’s mouth as it closed on his head, sucking greedily, like all it wanted was the semen that Jordan wasn’t sure he had anymore.

 _Because you spilled it all into Miss Martin._ He groans as his grip tightens painfully around him at that thought. She called herself the queen of Beacon Hills—a tiny town whose only real claim to any sort of fame was its lack of poaching—and there were few of her peers that would argue with her.

Even if the town is a stomping ground for many of his fellow foresters, it’s considered the cushiest position—the barest sliver of work and so many things, and people, to do in one’s off time. Jordan has only ever gone into the town when he had to pick up fresh supplies, so he’s seen Miss Martin, as beautiful and unreachable as the sun, occasionally; but had known their paths would never really cross.

 _Except_ , his brain so helpfully points out, _now you’ve fucked her and so much more_. He comes in his hand, wishing it were her tight channel, as he recalls the taste of her; the way the wolf had given him exacting instructions on how to please her.

Chest rising and falling rapidly he feels himself flush again. With a groan he forces himself upright.

Miss Martin isn’t there anymore, neither is the wolf; to which Jordan finds himself disappointed and grateful. On shaky legs he stands and stumbling, gathers up what things of his the wolf didn’t destroy in his quest to get Jordan naked, leaves the clearing and heads towards his cabin; knowing all the trails to avoid if he wants to escape contact with normal people.

-

It’s only two days later when he finds he has to go into town, at least if he wants fresh food for the next few weeks.

Feeling like a man about to do his gallows walk he collects his coin purse and his carry bag, then starts the walk into town; which passes far more quickly than usual. When the main square, already in full market swing, comes into view he finds himself slowing down, taking calming breaths—of the type he usually associates with hunting game. While Beacon Hills isn’t as large as some of the places he’s been, he also knows that it’s highly likely he won’t run into Miss Martin again.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he can’t put it off any longer and enters the market.

Jordan’s a good enough hunter at least that he can avoid most of the butcher’s stall, although he makes a note to stop by on his way out and pick up eggs. So he moves on to the farmers, bartering, first for vegetables, then fruits. He’s not as...invested as he usually is, half fearing these people know what happened to him the other night and are silently judging him.

It’s as he’s packing his purchases that he sees her. Lydia Martin, sitting on the rim of the fountain, surrounded by her peers, lavishing far too much attention on the peach she’s eating, and watching him.

_...the warm heat of her clinging to him as he orgasms, then gone; in frustrated shock he watches as the wolf nearly rams into her, again and again. The way she cries out softly as he tells her that they’re going to be the ones who impregnate her…_

He breaks her gaze, his cheeks blazing scarlet as he packs in the carton of cherries he’d allowed himself. Turning from her he hurries back to the butchers, intent on getting his eggs and getting out of there. Retreat to the quiet of his cabin, maybe go out and lay some snares for rabbits or hares; perhaps stay in and read his prized book—never mind that he’s read it hundreds of times.

Except as he’s paying the butcher for his eggs someone small and warm sidles up next to him. “Good morrow, forester Parrish,” Miss Martin’s voice, while soft and breathy during sex, is almost matter-of-fact now, if in the sweetest tones.

She’s lucky he hasn’t taken his eggs yet, otherwise he’d be liable to drop them at how brazen she’s being; not that anyone but him knows that. Her almost tiny hands—they certainly hadn’t felt that way digging into his back—take the eggs from the butcher, whom she graces with a smile. “You’re ever so kind Mr. Reyes.”

“Of course Miss Martin,” the older man replies with a smile.

Her free hand wraps around his arm and ever so gently she drags him to a tucked away corner of the square. All he can still do is gape at her, feeling as if he’s been smacked in the face with a week old fish.

A moue of distaste turns down her mouth. “Oh, don’t be that way Jordan,” the way she says his voice is wonderfully dangerous. “It wasn’t all that hard to find your name, your fellow foresters are very helpful.”

Unexpectedly his gut twists, he’d just bet they were. Feeling as if the sooner he gets away the better he reaches out to take his basket of eggs, except Lydia’s lips twitch in a smile and she tugs it closer to her belly, meaning if he wants his eggs he’s going to have to touch her breasts to get the handle. “Miss Martin…” he warns.

Her eyelids flutter closed and she gives a soft sigh. “Oh, that’s lovely. Say it again.”

Gods above, was there nothing this woman didn’t find sexual? He doesn’t say anything though, just remains silent.

A soft, disappointed sigh escapes her and she opens her eyes again, holding his basket further away from herself again. “I already miss it,” she admits, quietly though, as if she doesn’t really want to. “I thought the one night would be enough, but it wasn’t,” she sounds forlorn, and there’s a part of him that wants to step up to her and take her in an embrace. “And I’m afraid if I try to take the key to my room again my parents will actually notice.”

Something about that sentence rubs him the wrong way, and he finds himself stepping closer. “What?”

“My parents lock me in my room at night,” her tone is flat and unemotional, something that feels even more off. “When I was little I used to go wandering around the woods at night, drove my parents batty, not that they did anything about it. But then I started my courses and I was suddenly useful,” she spits the word out, voice full of derision and anger. “So they started locking me up.”

He’s standing right in front of her now, and he finds himself surprised at how small she is. Without letting himself second guess the decision he ducks down and kisses her, just long enough to taste the peach juice still on her lips, before pulling away and taking the basket of eggs from her unresisting hand.

She stare up at him, her expression one of surprise, but before she can say anything a young woman’s voice calls out: “Lydia?”

Lydia gives her head a shake, as if trying to dislodge something. “A second Allison!” She calls back. She gives a brief curtsy, “I hope we meet again soon forester Parrish.”

He gives a little nod. “Miss Martin.”

She runs off, the hem of her dress fluttering in the wind.

As he trudges home he finds himself mulling over their conversation. Or to be more precise one little part. _“My parents lock me up at night.”_ There’s certainly something sad about it; on the other hand, part of him points out, when she did manage to escape it was with the intent of having sex with a werewolf.

Before becoming a forester Jordan had only heard of werewolves, and now he was stationed in the one town that seemed disinclined to deal with the one it did have. Granted the wolf did do part of Jordan’s job for him, taking care of poachers; even if in a much more...gruesome fashion than Jordan would.

But he has to wonder if Miss Martin thought her idea through, in his own haze of pleasure he vaguely remembers the wolf saying something about it being her fertile time. Did she even care what the town would think of her if she became pregnant with no husband?

Then again if her parents locked her up, and she never revealed she managed to escape, people might start whispering that she was carrying the child of some god or another—something Jordan was sure would please the wolf.

_...the wolf’s rumbled approval when, unbidden, Jordan knelt down and began cleaning the other male’s flaccid cock. Hoping for more of the sweet and creamy combination of him and Lydia. Shivering at the feel of his claws in Jordan’s hair. “Poor Jordan,” the wolf crooned. “That sweet fawn of ours is far more greedy than I expected.” Not that the wolf sounds angry about it, in fact he sounds dangerously pleased. “Otherwise I’d be splitting you open right now, make you take me with just my semen and her juices to barely smooth the way.”..._

A frustrated whimper leaves Jordan, both from the memory, and the fact that he’s hard again. Desperately hoping this stops sooner rather than later.

-

A week passes and the only thing of real note is that sightings of the wolf have all but stopped; everyone agrees that he’s still here, but no one’s seen him.

The next time he goes to market Lydia’s there again, though she seems...listless, less vivacious than before. _“My parents lock me up at night.”_ It makes something in his gut churn.

Granted none of her peers seem to notice how lackluster her smile is; upon realizing that he notices, he finds himself taken aback.

And when he gets home he finds himself unearthing what little savings he has, counting it up three times, as if that will somehow make the sum greater than it is. It doesn’t, but he can hope that along with some veal liver it will be enough for the jeweler.

-

The tiny silk bag from Mr. Boyd, the jeweler, feels like a boulder in his pocket, or perhaps it’s the ring inside it that holds such weight. Even with the veal liver to barter with Jordan still wasn’t able to get much; then again despite Miss Martin’s love of seemingly rich things, a simple ring represents him better. He’s only the son of two bakers in a city most people here have never heard of after all, and a forester besides.

He has no idea if Lydia will even accept his suit—even with that full moon they shared—let alone her parents.

But the way she sometimes smiles at him and gets a canny look in her eye, as if she can’t wait to drag him to some out of the way nook and fuck him again, gives him at least some hope.

The Martin house is by no means the biggest in the town, but neither is it the smallest. Yet compared to his own cabin it’s a castle. The garden in the front is overflowing with flowers of all sorts, and there are some chickens keeping close to the house, pecking away at the dirt.

After a few moments to steady himself he goes up the path and knocks at the door. Jittery nerves, the likes of which he hasn’t felt since he was waiting to hear if he’d made forester, play havoc with his insides.

Mrs. Martin is the one who answers the door of course, pleasantly dressed, with a smear of flour across one cheek. “Forster,” she greets him, clearly not sure what to make of him.

He gives her his most charming smile. “Hello Mrs. Martin, your daughter wouldn’t happen to be in would she?”

This seems to take Mrs. Martin even further aback. Still she nods. “Yes, of course.” She steps aside and gestures for him to come in. “It’s baking day, so I keep her close. You can wait in the parlor,” she tells him, it’s the same sort of imperious tone he’s certain Lydia would use, but softer.

The parlor, when he steps into it, is almost staggering; there’s a whole _shelf_ of books, a sight only dwarfed by the time he’d gone to a book peddler to buy his own single tome, or the few times he’s had to go to Sir Whittemore’s home to consult with the barrister. This room isn’t as opulently furnished, but then again Sir Whittemore was the richest man in town. Still the furniture looks comfortable and well cared for, and what few decorations there are look well loved.

“Forester Parrish,” Lydia’s voice has him turning. “How unexpected.” Unlike as usual she’s plainly dressed, with her hair caught up at the nape of her neck; but despite her work-like appearance her face and hands seem clean.

He gives a respectful, and acknowledging nod. “Miss Martin,” he steps over to her. “I decided I couldn’t wait much longer.” Reaching into his pocket he pulls out the little bag and opening it pours the contents out into his other hand. The ring itself is plain silver—he couldn’t afford gold—but the veal had swayed Mr. Boyd into engraving it with ivy leaves—“give your sweetheart ivy,” his mother had once said. “And they’ll never leave you”—and a small circle; for the full moon.

“Miss Lydia Martin, would you marry me?”

She stares at the ring, as if she’s never seen the likes of it before. He watches as she picks it up and inspects it closely, turning it over and over in her fingers, the metal catching the light and glittering.

His eyes widen when she slips it on. “It will do,” her words are biting, even if the tone is not. But before he can even really register that she’s agreed she’s pressed herself against him, standing on the tips of her toes, her fists balled in his coat to drag him down into a kiss.

It’s not a pleasant sort of kiss like he would hope; it’s wild and rough, and makes it feel like she’s claiming him. Isn’t she though? He has to wonder.

When they pull apart her eyes are glittering and she’s smiling. “Now, let’s go tell mother the good news, she’ll insist you stay for dinner of course, so you can meet father and make it official…” Jordan knows he should be interested in making nice with her parents, but he finds he doesn’t quite care as he lets her pull him along towards the kitchen.

-

It’s late, late enough that the waning moon is high in the sky, when he finally begins to make his way home. But he knows his path well and so doesn’t fear; and there’s moonlight enough.

He’s about halfway home with they catch his eye. ‘They’ are a pair of glowing red eyes, low to the ground this time, staring at him from deep in the woods.

“What?” He snaps at the wolf. Finding he’s lost what little fear he might have had of the beast who is also a man. After all the creature all but promised he’d do to Jordan what he’d done to Lydia, and yet hadn’t. Something akin to bitterness coils in his gut, and he’d rather not examine it further than that if he’s honest with himself.

A soft chuffing noise reaches his ears, and then moments later a huge mottled gray wolf burst from the trees. He doesn’t go to Jordan, just cuts in front of his path, lips curled back and tongue lolling, as if he’s having a grand old time.

“Asshole,” Jordan finds himself snapping, not feeling all that charitable at the moment, as he watches the underbrush move from the wolf running through it.

When he steps into his cabin the air feels fresh, as if all the doors and windows had been open until recently, and when he climbs into bed he’s shocked to find it’s nearly unbearably hot under the sheets, and smells of dog-must and faintly, blood.

-

Over the next two weeks Lydia scrimps and saves every ounce of wild madness inside her, holding it in as she goes through the preparations for getting married.

Married, a word that had nearly shocked her parents when it had fallen from Jordan’s mouth. But once they had gotten over their shock they’d nearly fallen over themselves to agree; marriage after all meant she was someone else’s problem to worry about. On the outside Lydia’s expression is as serene as ever as she, Allison, and Erica look at dresses; but on the inside she’s laughing uproariously.

Because Jordan already knows her darkest secret; he took part in it. Dark pleasure curls in her belly as she wonders what they might get up to on their wedding night, and if anyone might join them…

But for every day leading up to her wedding she is the perfect daughter, using it to lull her parents into being lax. Lax parents means that she should be able to do the impossible a second time.

Then it’s the night before her wedding and in the pocket of her apron, heavy as gold, is the key to her room, just as before.

Excitement tangles in her gut as she sits on her bed as watches her candle burn down, she couldn’t sleep even if she wanted to.

Finally when she can hear her parents snoring instead of copulating she pulls the key out, the dull metal still gleaming just enough; though not so brightly as Jordan’s ring. Unlocking her door she pads out on bare feet, clutching her cloak tightly to her nude form.

The warm summer air feels good, but she still keeps her cloak tight, no one’s allowed to look at her body save the wolf, and Jordan.

Once she’s out of sight of the town she lets go of the hem and runs, feeling the fabric pulling away from her by the wind. Bright, joyous laughter bubbles up from her throat as she dashes heedlessly through the woods.

Wondrously soon she hears footsteps alongside her, well she hears them because he wants her to. Not that she cares, the wolf is here beside her.

She begins to slow down, her chest heaving from exertion and her feet aching slightly from the rocks and twigs in the ground. But she doesn’t care about any of that. When they come to a stop, it’s under the boughs of a grand tree, too dark to tell what sort.

The wolf’s eyes are bright red as he approaches her. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Oh my, I would have thought you’d learnt your lesson last time sweet fawn.”

She’s certain his words are meant to cut, but they don’t touch her, she laughs instead. “I’ve never been one for learning things that don’t interest me,” she teases, stepping back until her back hits the trunk of the tree.

“Well, then, perhaps this time you’ll pay more attention.” She can see his fangs in the bare sliver of weak moonlight that reaches them.

“Ah, ah,” she presses herself even closer to the trunk as he approaches her. “Don’t you know it’s the duty of a woman’s husband to punish her? Not layabout wolves?”

The wolf seems to tower over her as he stops in front of her and rests an arm above her head. “Well then, who’s the unlucky man you convince to marry to cover your...little indiscretion?” His other hand rests low on her belly, where a child, possibly even his child, is growing.

“Jordan,” she tells him haughtily, uncowed by his menacing air. Quite the opposite in fact.

Which the wolf picks up on, if the way his nostrils flare is any indication. “Well. I shall hope he’s not a complete milksop then. Otherwise you might find I will have to take a hand in some matters, to make up for his lack. You understand don’t you?”

He sounds so reasonable that it takes her a few moments to register his words, but when she does a full body shudder passes through her and she moans quietly.

The wolf’s smile widens as he leans in closer, “perhaps I should have you tell him for every time that he takes you, that gives me the chance to have him. Or that, if he fails to deal with you as he should, I’ll have him over my knee and treat him like the errant child he must be...but only after I’ve dealt with your punishment of course.” A claw delicately traces the curve of her cheek.

She can feel the juice of her arousal dripping from her bare slit, her thighs sticky with the stuff. “Perhaps,” her breathing is ragged and it shows in her voice. “I shan’t tell him whatever you tell me. Mayhap if you insist on the former I’ll entice him so often that you lose count of how many times you’ll take him. Or if the latter I’ll have him wrapped around my finger so fast he wouldn’t dare think of raising a hand to me.” Either way, she sees it as a win.

His laughter ghosts across her cheek and she squirms, attempting to relieve some of the arousal inside her. “Oh fawn, I see your game. So greedy and wild that one man just won’t do will it?” His nose brushes her cheek. “Or perhaps Jordan has already given you the dark corners of his heart and so you can provide to all his wants as a good wife should.”

Jordan hasn’t, but she knows tomorrow she will crack him like a nut and get the rich, meaty core of him. By this time tomorrow she’ll know his deepest desires, know how he felt all those nights ago when they became lunatics in true. Even if she doesn’t wrap him around her finger he’ll be hers.

And she’ll care for him as any wife should. Because she’s found herself beginning to care about him, care what he thinks about her; they have yet to mention the night, though from the way he occasionally blushes for seemingly no reason when he looks at her he thinks about it.

Part of her is glad that she won’t have to hide her wildness from him, that he already knows what she is and what she wants.

On the other hand she barely knows him. But tomorrow that will all change.

“Why did you come fawn?” The wolf’s voice interrupts her thoughts.

She gives him as imperious a look as she can, “I wanted to personally extend our invitation to the ceremony tomorrow.” It’s a lie, they both know it, but it’s also the truth.

He leans even closer, close enough she can feel the hot breath of him, fill her nose with his smell—blood and dog. “Is that so? Well I must respectfully decline. But I do believe I can still give you a marriage gift.”

His hands move, curling under her thighs and making her legs move and bend as he hoists her up, stepping into the ‘v’ her legs create. Through his ragged trousers she can feel the long press of his cock and eagerly wraps her legs around his waist. “And I would certainly be an ill-hostess if I refused any sort of gift,” she responds primly.

Dislodging her legs, much to her disappointment the wolf takes barely a half step back and she can hear as he removes his pants. Then he’s back and there’s nothing between them. “You are so very gracious.” A whimper leaves her as he slides in, her walls stretching in a way she’s missed. “Though I do insist your husband-to-be receive some, I dare say I have been poor to him in some respects.”

“”Of,”—she gasps—“course. I would never think to deny my husband anything.” Her last word ends on a moan as the wolf somehow changes the angle of their joining.

After that they exchange no more words, speaking to each other with their bodies, and the sounds they make. She cries out as his knot slips in, tying them together as he pumps her full, so full, of his seed. It is just as wonderful, and satisfying, as the last time; but she finds she wishes Jordan were there watching, wanting.

But she will have that tomorrow, perhaps while, she wishes, the wolf watched and wanted.

The wolf rumbles, in a way that reminds her of a cat’s purr, and she watches as his head bends down; lips sliding across the tops of her breasts, before he settles on a spot and sinks his teeth in. The pain from that action battles with the pleasure still zinging inside her and she squirms, trying to relieve the feeling.

His hands stroke across her sides, as if attempting to sooth her. Then his teeth are gone and he’s humming softly in her ear. “Shh, little fawn, just leaving my card, so your husband knows who the gift is from.”

“I would have told him,” she gasps petulantly, finding herself insulted by his insinuation. She would never keep such a thing from Jordan; he would know the moment they were alone.

As if in apology one of the wolf’s fingers toys with her clit, making her whimper again and her walls flutter around him. “I suspect I owe him two apologies now.” His finger moves steadily while he speaks, as if he doesn’t even realize what his hand is doing. Her hands scramble at his bare back as he drives her into another orgasm.

He keeps it up though, over and over until his knot shrinks and he’s sliding out of her. She gives a moan of displeasure, but the wolf drinks it up with a kiss, a strange expression on his face when he pulls away. “Go home fawn, marry Jordan, raise the child.”

Finding she can’t stand the way he speaks, as if they will never see each other again, as if tomorrow he will be gone, she grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him into a kiss. One with all the passion and wildness she can muster.

The expression on his face is stunned as they break apart. “This is your child,” it may be true, it may not. “I will not let it grow up without its father.” She will have Jordan track him down and drag him back if she has to, but she will not let the wolf leave if she has any say in the matter.

He doesn’t respond, his expression still stunned. Gathering her cloak back around her she begins to make her way home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you  
>  Take me back to the night we met  
>  I don't know what I'm supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you  
>  \- “The Night We Met”

Jordan finds himself nervous as he stands in front of Ajto’s altar—Lydia’s parents had admitted they hadn’t dedicated their daughter to any specific deity, so they had agreed to a marriage before the forester’s god—waiting for Lydia to come. Ajto’s wild face stares down at him from its spot in the living tree that represents him; and Jordan thinks that maybe it’s all too appropriate that this is where they’re to be married, vaguely recalling that Ajto was the werewolves’ god as well.

The sound of doors opening behind him pulls his attention away, and he turns to see Lydia and her parents—not that he spares them much of a glance. Lydia is in a blue dress that reminds him of the summer skies they’ll soon be experiencing again. She is breathtaking, even moreso than usual; and he finds himself mentally staggering again from the fact that she agreed to marry him.

Her parents leave her next to him, moving to join the others who have come to witness the wedding, and there’s a moment to themselves as the priestess begins to make her way ponderously towards them.

Lydia leans towards him, an all too familiar light in her eyes. “I have a gift for you,” she murmurs, her mouth barely moving. “From a very special someone.”

It takes him a few seconds to realize whom she’s talking about, but when he does his eyes widen. “Lydia…” which is about all he can manage before the priestess reaches them.

All throughout the ceremony though all he can think about is what sort of gift the wolf left with Lydia.

-

After the brief ceremony there is a party of course, but Jordan can hardly focus on it, intent on his wife as she swirls around the town square with her friends in a dance, and out of the corner of his eye he can see her father, and some of the fathers of her friends, loading up a cart with her things to carry back to his cabin.

When the song ends Lydia falls into his lap laughing, her arms wrapping around his neck as she kisses him, causing those around them to call out lewdly. Lydia giggles into their kiss. Pulling away she has a wicked smile on her face, “if they only knew,” she whispers into his ear, which causes him to flush.

She soon stands though, offering him her hand. “I do believe my father is ready Jordan, if you are wishing to go home now.”

Home, yes, with his wife and the child she carries. Where they can be alone. “Let’s go, the party will survive without us.”

Her laughter this time is richer and rife with meaning. Yes, alone would be excellent.

There are even more lewd calls as the two of them join her father on the cart bench, he’ll help unload and then take the cart back. And they’re on their way.

By cart the trip is much faster at least, and every step they travel has the excitement in Jordan growing. Before he even knows it they’re there; and he throws himself into helping unload all of Lydia’s things.

Of course the moment he and her father begin unloading Lydia’s directing them with all the command of a king, and he realizes as he settles the four books—it staggers him and makes him realize what different worlds they came from— she brought with her that she won’t let her father leave until everything in his two room cabin is exactly how she wants it.

Part of him is frustrated and annoyed. He wants her. But throughout the whole process she gives him coy looks and secret smiles—and at one memorable moment massages herself through her dress—and he realizes she’s doing it to frustrate him, playing some game he’s blind to. Which also frustrates him, and yet it is so very much the Lydia he knows that it’s...not tolerable, but meaningful.

And yet, for all her dictating, there comes a point that even she agrees the cabin is as she desires; a minute or so later her father is back in the cart, turning it around it head back into the village.

The moment the cart is out of sight Jordan closes his door and purposefully stalks towards Lydia, who is picking through the food given to them as their dinner. He’s behind her, so she doesn’t see as he brings his arms around, pinning her own to her sides, as he presses his front to her back.

“Hello wife,” he thrills at saying that.

She hums as she falls back against him, tilting her head back to show her closed eyes and pleased smile as she twists her forearms so her hands can rest on his own. “Hello husband, mmmm.” Her ass wiggles against his aching hard cock. “If that’s for me I dare say it’s the second best wedding present I’ve received.”

“Second best?” His hips jerk as he slides one of his hands lower.

“Yes,” she moans, though whether in response to his question or his action is muddy—to be fair it’s probably both. “You could lay me out on the table and receive your part of the best one.”

Again his hips jerk, her words seeming to wrap around his cock somehow, tugging him on. It’s no surprise she considers the wolf’s gift to be the best he realizes with a sort of inevitability; then again how can he question her desire for him, when Jordan feels at least somewhat as she does, and he’s received less of the wolf’s affection than she has.

Without any real sort of thought at all he does indeed haul her up, turning her in his arms and laying her roughly on the table—and yet also making sure to not knock over any of the food, or get Lydia in it—using a leg to draw up one of his now two chairs so he can sit. Her legs spread wide as he yanks up her skirts, intent on his goal. Because there’s only one gift the wolf could have given her, and Jordan feels a tightening in his gut at the thought of eating that straight out of Lydia, instead of off the wolf’s prick.

As he moves in her hands weave into his hair. “Clever Jordan,” she sighs, her hips lifting from the table to give him even better access.

Of course her snatch looks vastly different without the wolf’s cock spreading her wide. In fact it looks as if it shouldn't be able to contain anything wider than a finger or two. Somehow that contradiction makes him burn hotter, and he leans in, laying a broad stroke with his tongue across her lips.

Her grip on his hair tightens and her legs spread even wider, causing those same lips to part, revealing the most delicate pink flesh in all the land. His own hands move it, spreading those lips wider, and begins his work.

Lydia’s response is enthusiastic, her hips rocking and pleased sounds leaving her mouth almost constantly. At least until she realizes he’s purposefully avoiding her little nub; then those pleased sounds turn into a constant whimper, which he finds drives him on even more.

Despite her promise it has to have been hours since she was with the wolf and so his end of the ‘gift’ is decidedly lacking. Something like disappointment curdles in his gut, and he lets his tongue lick a stripe against the nub of her, watching as her insides flutter uselessly against the air.

“Mmmm, did you enjoy it?” She gives him a small smile, her body limp.

Standing up he bends over her, all but trapping her against the table. “Well dear wife,” she shivers. “There wasn’t much besides yourself to enjoy.”

Her look of glazed pleasure turns into a frown, and she raises her head to nuzzle at his cheek. “Poor Jordan,” she murmurs. “Will you let me make it up to you?” Her teeth set lightly into his jaw for the briefest of seconds. “As a good wife should?”

Now he’s the one who shivers, because he feels certain Lydia will be anything but a ‘good’ wife; but he’s finding he wouldn’t have anyone else. “Yes,” he grunts. “You should.”

Immediately her hands push at his shoulders, and he lets himself be moved by her back into his chair, but not before she undoes his pants, freeing his cock. Which pulses as she takes a step back and as slow as she can begins removing her dress.

When she’s naked there’s another secret smile on her face as her breathtaking form sways its way back to him. She straddles his lap and undulates her snatch against his cock. “Of course,” she pants out, seeming to fight herself for control. “We’ll have to let the wolf know you couldn’t properly receive his gift. Perhaps he’ll leave it again.”

Oh, she’d like that wouldn’t she? His hands quickly landed on her hips and gripped them tight, not allowing her to move from where she was pressed against him. He leaned in against her, bringing his lips up to her ear. “Perhaps,” he growled, the sound surprising even him. “I want it directly from the source this time.”

Her body stiffens in his grasp, and at first he thinks she’s displeased with his words. But when he looks at her face her mouth is open in an ‘o’ and her eyes appear to have rolled back in her head, and against his shaft he can feel a pulsing coming from her.

The unexpected orgasm over she slumps fully against him. “Oh Jordan,” the way she says it feels as if she’d just been given a precious gift. “Is that what you really want?” Her voice sounds ruined. “That unforgiving shaft spearing your mouth wide open? Maybe so wide he could even knot it?” Dear gods, how can she be so wicked? “It’s pure bliss to feel that thing holding you wide open,” she shudders, probably recalling her own experiences. “Or do you want him in that male part of you?”

He can’t help it any longer, and he lifts her up and lowers her onto his own shaft.

She mewls and yet somehow also manages to keep speaking as he sinks deeper and deeper. “When,” _blight, ‘when’?_ “That happens I want to hear every one of those wicked sounds you make.” She squeezes around him, nearly vise like. “I want to hear his rumble of satisfaction as he turns you into a woman.” His grip on her hips tightens and he fights back one of those ‘wicked’ sounds she apparently likes so much. “That tiny cunt-like hole of yours gaping wide open as he takes you. Oh, I want to see him knot you, tie you together for so long you won’t remember what it feels like to not have him there.”

Her words paint too vivid a picture, one he’s only imagined in vague terms before now, and this time he can’t fight back the whine that escapes him as he releases inside her.

“Yes,” she nearly shouts. “Just like that Jordan.” Her hands sooth through his hair. “His good little girl.”

A loud snarl breaks through their haze, but before he can even properly process it—he’s brain’s still far too caught up in ‘pleasure’ and ‘Lydia’ and ‘good little girl’—it gets cut off and shortly thereafter there’s an all to polite knock on the door.

Lydia is all but a rag doll on him, and he’s not interested in visitors when he has her. “Go away!” He finds himself shouting. “Come back tomorrow.” Lydia giggles weakly in his ear.

“Now, now,” the wolf calls out from the other side of the door; without him wishing it his cock twitches in Lydia, making her moan softly. “And here I thought I would be most welcome in this household.”

Still speared on him Lydia rolls her hips. “Can we husband? I want him in our house,” she whimpers it in his ear, making him groan. He doesn’t doubt that there will be days when she doesn’t ask for his permission to invite the wolf in, but he finds it does something to him that she’s asking now.

Excitement and resignation bubble in his belly. “The door’s not locked,” he says to the empty air, his gaze still intent on Lydia, curled up so sweetly in his arms.

But he still hears the door open, and the wolf’s steady tread as he walks to them. A too warm hand settles itself on his empty shoulder. “My, but this is quite the lovely picture.” The hand moves, grasping the back of Jordan’s neck and rubbing his spine. “And yet, forester, I hear you’re not pleased?”

He can feel those fingers gain claws, causing goosebumps to break out across his skin. “That just won’t do, not on such a happy occasion.”

Lydia’s hips rock slightly again. “Let him make you happy Jordan,” her voice is poison-sweet in his ear. “Let him help me.” Gods above.

The problem, if one could call it that, is that Lydia already seems to have him wrapped around her finger. Her small frame holding all the power she sometimes claims to have, at least over him. So it’s all too easy to give in to her, and the wolf. “Yes,” he groans, his head falling back; hopefully this time the wolf won’t ruin his clothing.

She slides off him achingly slow, her inner walls clinging to him as if loathed to let him go. But the wolf still holds nearly all of Jordan’s attention. “Off,” clawed fingers pluck at his fine shirt.

Standing up Jordan nearly scrambles to take off his clothes—they are, after all, his nicest ones—then he’s standing, naked before Lydia and the wolf. It feels different this time, it’s still daytime instead of night, and the candles in his cabin cast a brighter light than the moon ever did.

That secretive smile crosses Lydia’s face again as she steps forward and takes his hands. “Let us to bed husband mine. I want to see you be claimed.” He shivers, some proper part reminding him that he’s supposed to be the one doing the claiming on his wedding night, day, time. But he lets her lead him without argument, a desperate hope that she finds the bed comfortable rising in him.

The wolf trails behind on silent feet, the only reason Jordan knows this is because he can feel the other male’s breath on his neck as they walk, its constant pulse beginning to make him hyper aware. But then they’re in the bed and Lydia doesn’t give him time to think before she’s kissing him, her hand coming down to tease at his sack.

While the wolf himself settles in, still fully clothed, and takes Jordan’s cock in his mouth. He shouts, feeling as if he’s already starting to fray at the edges. Tongue seeming intent on cleaning every last part of Jordan the wolf gives a pleased hum around him. And Jordan can only wonder if he’ll somehow get coerced into hardness again.

Then the wolf’s mouth pulls away with a wet sound and the wolf’s moving up between them, Breaking apart their kiss with a smile. “Open up dear fawn,” the wolf’s still clawed hand strokes her throat lightly. “I’ve something for you.”

It should terrify him the way Lydia gives into the wolf so easily, the way she sighs into his mouth as they kiss—Jordan sees something slightly thicker than saliva pass between them and he moans.

The sound pulls the wolf away from his wife, focusing those red-blue eyes wholly on him. “Now then forrester, what was it I promised you? ‘Make you take me with just my semen and her juices to barely smooth the way’?”

Before Jordan can even think to open his mouth to reply the wolf has covered him, his heavy frame pressing Jordan into the mattress. Too sharp teeth press into his throat for a moment, then the wolf pulls his head away. “Just relax, be a good little girl and accept what’s coming.”

Hearing Lydia say it had been a shock, but the wolf? Jordan finds himself arching into the other male, a, far too pitiful whine slipping from his lips. “Please,” Gods, he sounds just as wrecked as Lydia had.

“Good girl,” the wolf croons, claws tracing designs along Jordan’s sides. “Maybe I’ll be able to breed you up as well, wouldn’t that be something?”

Jordan’s mind goes blank, the words too much for him to process, and the next thing he knows he’s been flipped over onto his belly, feeling the wolf’s cock grind against his bare ass, claws digging into his hips. “Virgins are a hassle to start,” he pants in Jordan’s ear. “But once you get them, they’ll happily do anything as long as you can make them feel good.”

He hears the words, but he doesn’t truly comprehend them. More focused on the sips of pleasure he’s had so far. He tries to arch against the bed, to press his ass more firmly against the wolf, but the weight on him is indomitable, and he can just barely move.

“Tt, now, now sweet, don’t get greedy. Greedy girls like you get ruined.” For a second it feels like Jordan can’t breathe, the wolf’s words reminding him of that full moon and how the wolf had, indeed, most likely ‘ruined’ Lydia. Except Jordan didn’t produce juices to smooth such an invasion along.

So he forces himself to go limp, hating the affected stillness. “There’s a good girl.” The wolf’s claws stroke through his hair. “But don’t worry, soon you can move all you desire.” His weight leaves Jordan and he gives an unhappy moan. Claws trace his spine. “I know sweet, but there’s something I need to do first, so just lay there and be good.”

His cock pulses against the bedcovers, and well it seems he can get hard again that quickly after sex.

“Open up fawn, I’ve got a promise to keep.” Jordan turns his head at the wolf’s words to see Lydia’s legs spread wide and the wolf settle himself in, his cock sliding into her easily. “Otherwise I’d be splitting you open right now, make you take me with nothing to smooth the way.”

At the thought Jordan whimpers, hips bucking against the comforter as he tries not to orgasm. The wolf chuckles as he thrusts in and out of Lydia, who now looks even more drugged on pleasure. “It’s not quite what I promised, but it will feel just as good sweet, trust me.”

Jordan finds himself intently watching as another male uses his wife to prepare for fucking him.

When the wolf pulls out Lydia gives a disappointed moan, which the wolf kisses away before moving back over to Jordan. “Well little girl, did you get yourself wet watching me fuck your wife?” Clawed fingers spread his ass far wider than Jordan’s comfortable with and he squirms.

“So pretty,” the wolf croons, and Jordan can feel the hot head of his cock pressing against his anus, the sensation making Jordan still. “I wish you could watch as I split this tiny cunt of yours wide open for the first time. Watch the way it submits to me like it should.”

The wolf begins pressing in and down, and Jordan can feel it as his body tries to resist and reject the wolf. But even the impulses of his body are no match for the wolf’s determination, and he grips the blankets under him almost painfully tight as that first part of the wolf works its way in.

“Yes, so tight. Just like your wife when I fuck her rough. And at least she can watch as I fuck you.” Jordan knows, his gaze still on Lydia, who’s watching the both of them avidly. “It’ll get her nice and worked up for when I’m done with you little girl.”

More of the wolf’s cock slips in and Jordan arches his neck in a moan. “Mmmm, I hope you’re this good to my fawn when I’m not around. It’s your job as the husband, little girl, to keep her happy and sated, you know how much a wanton she is.” Still more, and it’s beginning to feel like the wolf’s stroking every sensitive part of Jordan’s body all at once, with a cock that goes on forever.

“And I can’t take care of her all the time, so it falls to you when I’m not around.” Finally he feels the press of the man’s thighs against his ass, and he feels full, the sensation making him squirm again.

The wolf grasps Jordan’s hips as he pulls both of them up onto their knees, well the wolf’s on his knees, Jordan has to rest on his forearms and knees. “That’s right little girl, squirm all you want now, feel me pressing against your clit. I’m just going to stay right here until you beg me to move.”

Gods, Jordan sees white for a brief second; beside them Lydia gives a tiny moan, and Jordan focuses on her to see that she’s fingering herself, attempting to get another orgasm, her other hand pinching and rolling a nipple.

As if catching on to what Jordan’s looking at one of the wolf’s hands slides up his side and tweaks one of his own nipples, making him shudder. “I’d love to see you like that, shamelessly fingering your own cunt as you try to orgasm,” true to his word he hasn’t moved at all, but Jordan can tell that he wants to. Jordan’s own insides finally starting to adjust to such a massive intrusion.

“Please,” Jordan grits out, back arching as he presses himself more fully against the wolf; and if this is what Lydia experiences every time she’s penetrated no wonder she chases it so.

“Please what?” The wolf asks coyly, the hand tweaking Jordan’s nipple sliding back down and firmly grasping Jordan’s cock. “If you don’t say exactly what you want little girl you’re not going to get it.”

For a moment Jordan thinks he’s orgasming, but he sees none of his seed splattered across the bed; that’s twice now. “Please, fuck my cunt,” he mewls, needing to orgasm so much that he can’t even feel shame at his own words.  
  
“Such a good little girl,” the wolf croons and Jordan’s reduced to only sensations as the other male beings to thrust in earnest.

Jordan fears he’s going to burn up, heat rising hotter and hotter in him as the wolf truly does claim him. Accompanied by a litany of sound from Jordan himself, and Lydia still chasing an orgasm of her own, all while moaning and sighing about what a good girl Jordan is, and wasn’t it amazing to be stretched and owned like that?

He can’t formulate words to reply, the only sounds leaving him are wrecked and ruined and so very feminine.

Then part of the wolf begins to swell, making the male fight to get it back into Jordan. “I’m going to pump you so full,” he snarls in Jordan’s ear. “Make you look pregnant like your wife and make you carry my pups too little girl, sweet thing. So over her head.”

With those words Jordan orgasms.

-

There is something awe inspiring in seeing her now-husband, be changed by the wolf. He doesn’t scream as orgasm comes over him, but he moans, hips twitching as if trying to escape. But Lydia knows there can be no escape, not until the wolf lets him.

The wolf croons as Jordan slumps onto the bed, the only reason his legs still mostly upright most likely from the cock stuck inside him. “Good,” she watches avidly as the wolf’s clawed fingers run up and down Jordan’s sides. “So beautiful, took my cock just as well as your wife.” She thrills at the words, arching when she feels the wolf’s gaze upon her. Her own cunt aching and fluttering for something to fill it.

She squirms at the thought of waiting, but wait she must. With that glorious knot locked tight in Jordan there’s no way they can move far from each other.

The wolf’s nostrils flare and she watches as he moves himself and Jordan, until Jordan is on the wolf’s lap, his cock still jutting up, hard as can be. “Come here fawn,” she goes, eager for release of some sort.

Hot fingers help guide her atop the rag-doll that is now Jordan, whose eyes barely flutter when Lydia begins sliding down his cock, a soft sigh leaving her at the feel. Behind Jordan the wolf gives a small thrust and she gasps as she it moves Jordan’s cock in her. _Oh_.

She slides down effortlessly, so wet and ready that she’s eager to truly start. Her eyes watch as the wolf nuzzles Jordan’s neck, his red-blue eyes watching _her_ as he lightly sets his teeth into Jordan’s neck. Lydia whimpers, squeezing Jordan tightly in visceral response. _She_ wants that, wants to feel those teeth sinking deep into her; a far more permanent mark than the ring Jordan had given her not hours before.

Setting her hands on Jordan’s shoulders she begins to move, her own quiet sounds of pleasure leaving her as the wolf begins his sharp thrusts, Jordan’s head lolling against the wolf’s shoulders, but his eyes more open again. For a brief time clouded in confusion as to what’s happening. Oh her darling, sweet man.

Her orgasm slides through her so subtly that she doesn’t even know it at first, but her nails dig into Jordan’s shoulders and her head throws itself back as she gives a strangled sound.

The wolf’s hands slide behind her back, and she feels the three of them move. Her back hits the bed sooner than she expects and she feels the wolf pull Jordan out of her, his cock still eager for another orgasm.

But the wolf rolls the both of them off of her, until the both of them are on their sides. “Soon fawn,” the wolf’s voice is deeper than before, eyes fully red and glowing as embers. Her insides flutter again, and her hips can’t help but squirm at the promise. Soon. She can’t wait.

“What about Jordan?” His body’s still limp and there’s a hazy look about his eyes, for all that she’s sure he’s watching the both of them. “He’s still hard.” Part of her feels offended at the idea of leaving him like that, as if she were so callous as to leave him in that state. And perhaps at a later time she would, but this was their wedding night. Neither of them deserved to go unsatisfied.

The wolf chuckles, and she watches as his hand wraps around Jordan’s cock and squeeze, Jordan gives a limp moan, body looking as if trying to escape, but unable too. “Come here fawn,” once again she can’t refuse him, sliding over and following the other hand of the wolf as it guides her down until her mouth is just at the level of Jordan’s cock. “Open,” a clawed finger brushes her cheek.

Her gaze turning up to stare at both their faces she does so, a sound of surprise leaving her as the wolf slides the tip of Jordan’s cock into her mouth. “It’s like eating hard candy fawn, but with less teeth. You won’t have to do much I’m sure.” Another chuckle. “And you don’t have to swallow if you don’t like.”

With that advice Lydia darts her tongue out, lapping at that little bit in her mouth. Jordan is warm and velvety in a way she didn't expect, she licks again, her head sliding a little further down to take more of him. “Good.”

Using her tongue as she would her fingers she explores the head of Jordan’s cock, paying attention as it twitches in her mouth. “Pull away now fawn,” she does as the wolf instructs and as she watches the wolf’s hand pump Jordan’s cock he comes, thick ribbons of white spurting out, covering her and the bed.

Curious she swipes off a patch and sticks it in her mouth, much like the feel of Jordan it doesn’t taste at all like she expects. But she finds she quite likes it.

Above her Jordan moans, and as she pays attention to him again she sees the wolf begin to pull away. “Please,” she begs. Jordan gives her satisfaction, but not quite like the wolf does. It doesn't matter that she’d had him last night, or for a brief time before he’d taken Jordan. She needs to have him locked inside her again. She’s certain that she’s already pregnant, but just in case.

Those ember eyes flare and she can’t look away as he climbs over Jordan, “so sweet,” he murmurs. Like with Jordan his clawed fingers dance up her sides. “So eager to be ruined. Will you enjoy your husband watching as I do just that?”

It almost feels like nothing at all to have those claws dig into her skin, not when that aching hot cock of his slides in at the same time. With that to focus on the rest of the world just seems to float away. Even then the weight of Jordan’s blissful eyes is inescapable.

Thrusts shake her, making her writhe to feel his cock filling her to the brim. Other sensations fill her, and her nose smells copper-blood. But before she can think about it too deeply, his knot fills her almost suddenly, throwing her into a screaming orgasm.

She blacks out to the sight of the wolf watching her intently.

-

In the morning her side has been bandaged and the wolf is gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew love would be like this?  
>  Don't know what I'm gonna do  
>  But I guess I gotta see it through.  
>  \- “Cursed”

Lydia had known marrying Jordan would mean she would be, in a way, ‘stepping down’, from the life she’d had before. Jordan gets his dues from the guild, and sells some of the meats and furs he catches for extra money, but it’s nothing compared to what she’s used to. It’s a price she’s willing to pay for the freedom it gives her in return.

She counts her coins carefully as she buys cherries, an expense they usually couldn’t afford; but she’d found an extra coin in her purse this morning before she’d left to do the shopping. And seeing Jordan’s face light up at the unexpected treat will be wonderful.

As she walks through the town she can feel eyes on her, on her growing belly. Allison and Erica had blushingly told her that there were rumors that the reason she’d married Jordan was because she was already pregnant and looking to hide the shame of a child out of wedlock.

It had been very hard not to laugh.

When she returns home she’s unsurprised to find Jordan gone. He’s been gone more and more, doing more hunting to supplement what they have and what he can sell.

He hasn’t said anything, but she knows it’s because of her.

Setting the cherries on the table she goes about making dinner.

-

Lydia’s belly has grown enough now that when Jordan puts his ear to it he can hear heartbeats, sometimes feel tiny kicks. She complains about it often, and he wakes every time she slips from the bed in the night.

And with the wolf’s visits few and far between these days he bears the brunt of it. But gladly he finds; she is still as demanding a lover as always, but he finds himself equally eager to please.

One morning he slips from bed as slowly as possible, Lydia still fast asleep and him eager to keep her that way while she can. He dresses quickly and stokes up the fire so that Lydia won’t have to do it herself. Grabbing his crossbow and quarrels he opens the door to go outside, only to draw up short when his foot encounters something on his doorstep.

Looking down he frowns to see a brace of hares, still mostly fresh from the look of things. Setting aside his things he picks them up, cleanest damn kills he’s ever seen; both necks snapped cleanly, not even a break in the fur.

Which means he’ll be able to fetch a higher price for the furs when he skins them. Not by much, but enough that he might be able to get something nice for Lydia.

He looks around the woods, there’s no signs of anything strange, but then again he’s never found much in the way of signs left by the wolf whenever he stops by. And these are most definitely from the wolf. Who else would kill so cleanly and just leave them for Jordan and Lydia?

Taking them back inside he grabs his skinning kit. He might as well get to work now, make a later start than he’d planned. Hopefully he could find something for Lydia in town today and surprise her with it when he returned home.

-

Despite the fact Lydia was eager to get pregnant, she’ll be damn glad when these...babies are out of her; the midwife says it’s likely she’s with twins and while the idea is somewhat pleasurable, she just wants to _have_ them.

Now she’s only got a few weeks until she’s most likely due. And she hasn’t seen the wolf in at least a month, the absence of him eating away at some part of her. She _misses_ him, and not just because of the sex. Her certainty that these are _his_ children certainly doesn’t help, he should be here, watch her swell, be there when she finally gives birth, hold those squirming bodies.

But all she’ll have is Jordan’s steady warmth and the midwife.

Blinking she realizes she’s crying into the dough she’s kneading. Rubbing her hand angrily across her face she hopes these bouts of sentimentality pass soon; thankfully she’s alone in the house once again. Although she’s certain Jordan would not mind comforting her, nor, she thinks, would she mind him doing it.

Knowing fighting it will do her no good she lets herself cry, pulling away from her dough so she doesn’t ruin it at least. Slowly she sinks to the floor, her tears soon drying up and leaving her feeling scrubbed out and hollow.

Warm arms scoop her up and she gives a start, her head jerking up to see not Jordan as she expects, but the wolf.

Her heart leaps, but she doesn’t say any of the thousand things that leap to her mind. Part of her wondering if this is a dream; it would not be the first time she’s cried herself to sleep—if not always out of sorrow.

He says nothing as well, carrying her to the bed—can she call it their bed when he has been such an infrequent guest to it?—and pulling back the covers before tucking her in. He curls around her atop the covers, one of his hands coming up to brush hair out of her face, fingers trailing across her skin. “Oh my dear fawn,” he leans in slightly and kisses her forehead. “I hope you were not crying for me.”

Part of her wants to laugh, but she just nestles closer. “What if I was?” she challenges, in her mind she’s got every right to considering the circumstances. For all she knew he was dead.

The flaring of his eyes catches her off guard, she doesn’t think she’s angered him, but it’s a much more visceral response than she thought the words would get. “Then I am sorry,” hearing him apologize is...strange; it almost feels wrong for one such as him, sometimes more animal than man.

His hand drifts from her cheek down her neck and oh so slightly tugs down the sleeve of her dress. “Has it healed?”

For a second the question catches her off guard, and then she realizes he must be talking of the scars he gave her on her wedding night. Unmistakable proof of his claim on her; a ring could be shed, but scars, those she could not leave behind even if she wanted to. “Yes.” Sometimes she’ll catch Jordan staring at them when they lie naked together, something like jealousy in his eyes—it makes her love him even more if she’s honest with herself.

His eyes flare again, if this time for an all too familiar reason. “I want to see,” his voice deepens and she shivers as she helps him push aside the blankets that he’d placed around her. Her dress vanishes even more quickly, another shiver passes through her when she feels the weight of his stare on her side.

“So lovely,” his hand glides down her side to stroke over the ridges and valleys, petting them as if she were a cat.

And like a cat she finds herself purring at the touch. “I missed you,” she murmurs into his neck as she presses herself against his front, barely caring about the roughness of his clothes against her bare skin. “Why did you leave?”

She feels his face press into her hair, nose nuzzling. “I had something important I needed to take care of, but it’s done now. And I can promise you that I will be here for the birth. I would not miss seeing our beautiful pups for the sun.”

The sentiment warms her, and yet. “I’m certain they’re yours, but how will I know?” She has seen many a child that looks nothing like their parents, and she finds herself fearing that that could be the case with these twins; or that they might be Jordan’s children instead of the wolf’s—but with that she knows they can just try again, perhaps lie only with the wolf for a time, hardly a trial.

“The eyes my fawn,” there is a thread of laughter in his voice, she hopes he isn’t laughing at her. “When I call out to them their eyes will flare, not the same color as mine mind. They’ve a ways to go before they’re as powerful as I. But they will change colors all the same.”

She finds herself smiling at the thought, but before she can ask anymore questions a yawn escapes her; her hands grasp his shirt tight. “Stay,” she wants him here, to be here when she wakes, when Jordan returns.

Snuggling closer she turns slightly so can sleep more comfortably. The wolf moves with her, becoming a firm wall against her side. “Of course fawn,” the hand on her side moves up slightly to rest on her belly, thumb rubbing in soothing circles. “Sleep now.” He begins to hum, a melody soon making itself know; what surprise she feels soon slips away as she falls into sleep.

-

He paces around the outside of Jordan’s home, ears straining for every tiny sound from within; at least on that front it’s easier than it could have been, Jordan having opened the windows earlier. He only dares the occasional peek, the midwife and Lydia’s mother being inside as well—and while the town tolerates him he doubts they’d like to see him lurking around a house with soon to be newborns on the way.

Lydia gives another cry of pain, and he digs another row of furrows in the siding of Jordan’s house—he’s certain the man won’t exactly appreciate it, but the wolf knows how to sooth that anger. He knows that the pain is part of giving birth, but he doesn’t like it; Lydia deserves to feel only the pain she wants.

The cries subside, only to be replaced by crying of a different sort.

He risks a glimpse to see Lydia’s mother cleaning a squalling baby, it’s too far away for him to see the sex, but the lungs certainly sounded healthy enough. Good.

It is at least Jordan who catches him looking. His smile a bit wan and strained, and he finds himself nearly bursting in. Another set of furrows. With Lydia having twins, a thought that thrilled him, the work was only half done.

To keep from drawing more attention to himself he leaves, diving headfirst into the forest as he body shifts and changes. He needs to hunt, burn off some of this restless energy inside him. And it will give him something to give Lydia, food to help her and the pups gain strength. His nose catches the scent of a buck and he slinks towards it.

A few minutes later he’s dragging the carcass towards Jordan’s house, he and Jordan can go about dressing it when the birth is done, give Lydia a moment of peace. Although not before he’s made certain of who the pups are.

Shifting back into his human form he deposits the carcass into the small shed Jordan has for such things, creeping back up to the house and risking another peek.

It’s darker inside than before, and when all he sees is Jordan and Lydia he risks entering. Jordan only giving the barest of starts when he spots him. “Lydia’s tired,” the man tells him quietly.

He nods, going over to the cradle and peering in on the two pups; they’re both fast asleep and he finds himself loathed to wake them. With care he scoops one up, it wiggles, but doesn’t wake. He can feel Jordan’s gaze upon him as he brings it closer.

“Her name’s Malia, she’s the older one,” Jordan’s voice is still low. When he looks up he sees the man moving to lay down on the bed behind Lydia, gathering her close to him in possessive care. “The other’s Jackson.”

Names, how human, but then Lydia is so very human. With the girl against his chest now he leans his head down and gives a sniff, it’s not as accurate as the eyes, but it will do for now.

A pleased rumble leaves him when he smells wolf. Good.

After he repeats the same thing with the boy he leaves the crib, drifting over to the bed. Lydia is fast asleep, but Jordan is still awake and watching him. Softly he kisses the both of them. “There’s a buck in the shed for you,” he speaks as quietly as Jordan had, as unwilling to wake Lydia as he was. Still one of his hands moves to stroke Lydia’s hair.

It earns him a warmer smile than the one earlier. “Thank you,” Jordan turns his head slightly and kisses the back of the hand on Lydia’s hair. “Lydia will be sad she missed you.”

“I’ll be back soon enough,” he finds himself echoing Jordan’s warm smile. “It would be poor of me to abandon her and the pups when they need me most.” He removes his hand and backs away, intent on leaving.

“You could stay,” even though he calls out, Jordan still keeps his voice soft.

Knowing if he turns around he will stay he shakes his head. “No, I’ve things that need done, I will return in the morning.” And with that he leaves.

Again he finds himself filled with energy, although it has a different feel than that he felt earlier. Close, so close. Lydia and the pups were too weak to move still, but in a few turns of the moon they'd be strong. And they would finally be together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A chapter with no sex, something like a plot, and Peter POV? say it isn't so.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where, could that girl have gone  
>  Where, I've wandered far  
>  Where, could that girl have gone  
>  She left no trail but I cannot fail, I will find her  
>  \- "She Lit A Fire" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the end folks. I hope you've all enjoyed reading it as I have finally sharing it with you all.
> 
> The song Lydia sings in this chapter is "And You Will Be My Ain True Love" by Sting and Allison Krauss.

Lydia lies nestled in his arms, the pups fast asleep in hers. Her head’s on his shoulders and there’s a faint smile on her face as he carries her through the woods.

The bright sunlight shining down catches on the silver of her wedding ring, reminding him of the other in her life. While he’s never been one for much sentimentality, he won’t begrudge her the ring, she is the forester’s wife after all; but she is his mate, wild and harsh and passionate. He will not give her up so easily, not when she’s born him such beautiful pups.

“Is it very far?” Her voice is whisper soft, but he hears it clearly.

Her words make him think, because wolf distances are so very different. “Yes,” he decides. Not even bothering to stop he leans down and nuzzles her hair. “You should rest dear fawn, we’ll be there quicker.”

His daughter wiggles in a dream, her mouth opening slightly as if suckling an imaginary teat; he smiles at her, and his son as well.

Lydia snuggles deeper into his hold. “Alright,” already she sounds tired, and soon enough her body goes lax in sleep.

And he feels nothing but satisfaction as he carries her towards their new home.

-

When Jordan returns from hunting, a brace of pheasants knocking against his back, it’s to find an empty home. And not just empty of Lydia, but of the babes too.

At first he thinks that perhaps she’s taken them with her while she goes foraging, or into town. Except…

Except spread out upon the bed in an all too familiar cloak.

His heart doesn’t break, no; after all some part of him knew this would happen some day. Just not so soon. But he feels no anger, or impotent rage either; only an sense of inevitability.

And resolve.

In no sort of rush he packs his bag, clothes, rope, knife, the food they have that will keep, any and everything that will be of use in the wilderness. Tying the pheasants to the drawstring he hoists the bag onto his shoulder.

First, into town. Finish up his business.

The forester’s hall is the same as always, a low log structure, smoky and filled with talk from his fellows. He nods to those who’re familiar to him, but he doesn’t allow himself to be drawn into their conversations, heading straight for Keeper Deaton’s office.

He knocks firmly, and enters when he’s called. In the office is the keeper, the head of their guild, as well as Sheriff Stilinski. Deaton smiles at him, “Parrish, I wasn’t expecting you today.” It’s both question and statement.

Jordan gives a formal salute and holds himself at attention. “Keeper Deaton I came to resign and collect my dues.”

Shock crosses both men’s faces, before Deaton schools his into his usual continence. “Is there a reason for this sudden withdrawal Parrish?” He asks as he stands and walks to the safe.

“Yes sir, but I would rather not tell you if it’s all the same.” No need to stir up pointless panic. The wolf won’t be stealing any other woman and children but his.

Deaton nods sagely, while the sheriff frowns. “Well son, looks like you’re kitted up for bear there. You and the family planning to go somewhere?”

Jordan smiles, and he knows it’s not a nice one. “No, just me. A long hunting trip.” Until the end of his days if he has to.

Then Deaton’s before him, a good sized bag in hand. “Well I wish you well the rest of your days Parrish, and may Ajto watch over you.”

Taking the bag Jordan gives a respectful nod. “And to you sir, farewell.” He turns and leaves, feeling as if he is shaking the dust of Beacon Hills from his very boots as he travels back to his cabin one last time.

Once there, he inspects the area around it, searching for any signs of the wolf. He knows the other male is deliberate, but not even he can travel the woods and not leave a trace.

There, a shattered twig.

Resettling his pack Jordan heads east.

Soon Lydia.

-

He watches as his pups tumble in the grass in front of the lake, yipping and snarling playfully as they learn how to fight. The girl, Lydia still calls her Malia but they are wolves like him and human names are pointless to beings such as they, tricks her brother and soon enough she’s won.

Inside the cabin, he’d built it himself though it had taken months of blood and sweat, he can hear Lydia singing softly as she bakes; the smell of fresh bread filling the air. It fills him with the best sort of contentment.

Over the past two years his fawn’s become truly glorious, with nothing like human society to constrain her she’s bloomed into the wild woman she’d only shown hints of back in Beacon Hills. Why, just the other day when he’d been away in town—it’s no Beacon Hills, but no one there knows what he is and accepts his coin and trade without question—bandits had come to the cabin, clearly hoping to take their fill. She’d welcomed them in with a smile, only to slit their throats after they’re gorged themselves on his supper.

And had he been the sort of wolf to partake in human flesh, well, he would’ve eaten very well that night.

A smile of his own dances across his face, at least until he hears his son whimpering in painful submission and he goes to haul his overenthusiastic daughter off him.

-

Jordan’s long since lost track of useless things like days, weeks, and months; he knows the seasons by the weather and stars and that’s enough for him. He knows it’s been four summers since the start of his hunt, but he hasn’t given up yet. The woods are large and deep, but he doesn’t find them daunting.

He’d long since run out of his due money, now solely relying on trade and the kindness of strangers to provide him with what little he can’t get or make for himself.

The last town he’d been in the people there watched him and whispered behind his back. The same whispers he’s been hearing for the last turn of the seasons or so.

News travels fast in the woods, despite the distance, and gossip and hearsay even faster. In the eyes of the woods he’s nearly a living legend: the tireless Hunter. Searching for an impossible white stag, the boar that killed his brother, someone or something that could kill him, the last true holy man. There are as many explanations for why he does what he does as there are leaves on the trees.

But none yet have come close to the truth.

Soon Lydia.

-

The pups howl with delight as they splash around and make themselves a filthy mess in the lake.

The boy’s hand darts into the water, and with a triumphant shout he pulls out a fish. “Daddy!” He shouts, waving the trout around.

He smiles at his son, “good work.” Amused he watches as the boy tries to present the fish to his sister—her sepia hair is a tangled mess that Lydia will certainly fret over tonight when they come in—who is clearly disinterested, more focused on watching the smaller fish as they dart around her feet.

“Why don’t you go take it to your mother,” he tells the boy.

“Take what to me?” His dear fawn’s voice, warm and sweet, sounds right behind him.

Impressed, he turns and smiles at her swollen form—it took them six years of rutting like rabbits, but she was carrying his pups again. “You’ll see soon,” he tells her as he hears the boy’s feet pounding across the ground towards them. “And you’ve been paying attention,” he praises, nuzzling her throat.

Her fingers tangle in her hair. “Hard not to, when it’s all you talk to the children about.”

She’s right of course, he’s teaching them how to hunt now, and moving silently is the key. The girl’s picking it up faster than the boy, but they’re both learning and he thinks he’ll take them hunting with him soon. But after the pup is born, he doesn’t want to leave his fawn alone for too long.

But even he can’t put off trips into town. He wonders what strange tale of the Hunter he’ll hear the people there tell themselves this time.

“Mama! Look what I caught.” The boy stops in front of them and offers his trout with a gap toothed smile.

“That’s quite impressive Jackson.” Despite what wildness she’s gained she clings to strange things, like names. Still, he can’t find it in him to dissuade her. “Why don’t you go put it in the kitchen and I’ll cook it up for your lunch?”

With a bark of happiness the boy dashes inside. “Wipe your feet!” She shouts after him.

Nearly overflowing with contentment he sets a hand on her growing belly. “Soon.”

Her hand joins his, the silver wedding band gleaming brightly in the light. It’s an easy enough thing to hold back his grimace of pain at the burn.

-

His legend has grown again in the past two turns of the seasons, now when he comes into towns the whispers are ones of awe and disbelief that he’s gracing their corner of the woods. The tales are a little more ‘accurate’ now, word getting around that he’s giving descriptions of two particular people.

But these people are nothing special to him, just another place where he can get things that aren’t meat and wild vegetation.

Like the succulent cherries that are on proud display at the stand of one farmer’s wife.

Jordan knows if he goes over there the woman will gladly offer him some of her wares, and more besides. She won’t be the first woman to offer, nor the last. And he’ll let her down as gently as the others, because there’s only one woman he’ll have.

It’s been eight years, but Lydia is forevermore his pole star, guiding him true north—and at the other end lies the wolf, ever south.

Still he goes over, because he can’t remember last when he had cherries; perhaps before even she left to become wilderness herself.

The woman smiles, bending down slightly to show off her shapely breasts. “Finest cherries in all the woods sir Hunter.”

He takes one and pops it into his mouth, the soft flesh giving easily and spilling their bounty in his mouth, when his teeth meet the pit he spits it out. “Good,” he agrees, voice rusty with disuse; there’s not much talking to be done alone in the woods.

Her smile widens, “I will have even better later sir Hunter, if you’re willing to wait.”

“Just the cherries,” he wants something sweet in his life again. One business done he turns to the other. “Have you seen-”

“A woman with hair like fire and eyes like the woods?” The woman interrupts; she isn’t the first there either, his words becoming a sort of ritual. “No. But,” her smile becomes more cunning. “I have seen a man whose hair is black as night, and eyes sorrow blue.”

Jordan’s heart leaps, and without thinking he grasps the woman’s arms tightly. “Where?” He demands, life filling him more than it has in a long time.

Whatever cunning ploy she might have had is lost to fear at his sudden animation. “He comes into town,” her voice grows tremulous. “No one’s sure where he lives, but there are fishermen who claim to see him around the lake often.” She gestures in a westerly direction with her hands.

He releases her and, cherries forgotten, runs west.

The lake is easy enough to find. And without thought he sheds his bag, so he can go quicker, following the edge of the lake with single minded focus.

It’s getting on evening when he hears a woman’s voice, singing.

“And as you walk through death's dark veil,

The cannon's thunder can't prevail,

And those who hunt thee down will fail,

And you will be my ain true love,

And you will be my ain true love.”

For an eternity he cannot move, his heart ceasing to beat in his chest at that voice. Lydia.

Like the man possessed he has been for eight years he runs. Letting that voice call him home.

In the dying sunlight she’s glorious, her fiery hair piled atop her head, her pants and shirt clinging to curves slightly more generous than he remembers, and in the tub in front of her is a small child, splashing happily as she sings to it.

And on her finger is his ring.

“Lydia,” it comes out a choked sob, one she doesn’t hear. He runs to her again, shouting this time. “Lydia!”

She starts and looks up from her child to stare at him, mouth gaping and surprise clear on her face. But she doesn’t resist when, upon reaching her, he scoops her up, finding himself laughing as he spins her around.

In the end though he can resist no longer and he brings her up to him for a kiss. A shudder passes through him at her still familiar hum at the first tangle of their tongues.

When they pull apart she’s smiling, and there’s a familiar sparkle in her eye. “Oh Jordan.”

Something in her tone, despite it’s apparent affection, brings him back to the reality of what’s happened and he finds himself putting her down, but still unable to let her go—afraid of where she might vanish to this time if he did. “I haven’t forgiven you.” With Lydia there’s no need to speak of the time that has passed, only of them.

Her chin gains a haughty tilt, and she meets his gaze unashamed. “I do not expect you to. Yet you still love me." There is awe in her voice as she says it, as if she can't quite comprehend such a thing, and perhaps she can't. "My bed is open to you if you wish it. And if it is also your wish that I come with you, well, then I shall go,” her gaze cuts to the boy in the tub. He’s young, still a babe really, with brown hair going blond from too much time in the sun, and his eyes are a too serious blue as he watches them. “Though Liam will have to come with us, he’s too young to leave with him.”

No need to wonder who ‘him’ is, there’s only ever been one other man, well, wolf. The laugh that leaves him this time isn’t bitter, why should Jordan be bitter when this is the way his wife has always been. No matter that it has been eight years since they last saw each other. “Is that how it is to be then? The two of us, stealing you from the other? Will he give me eight years as well? Or will I only ever have you for one?”

“Whoever said anything of stealing me away?” She arches an eyebrow. “If you want it there is room enough in the bed for one more, so long as you don’t mind the occasional child joining us for one reason or another.”

Yes, Liam, and the twins he raised and cared for as his own for four months before they were taken from him, just as Lydia. This time his laugh is bitter. “And what? Your lover won’t put up a fuss?”

Lydia huffs. “He cares for you too, after a fashion. He doesn’t speak of it, but...a woman knows.” The smile she gives him recalls dark nights, and long distant pleasure.

“And what if, after eight years, all I wish is to kill him?”

She stills, but he can still see the struggle clear on her face. Wondering if it would be any different if he and the wolf were in the other’s position. “I do not want it, but I will not stop you from trying.” He watches, almost dispassionately, as she blinks back tears.

His shoulders slump, “where is he?”

Her chin jerks behind her, “at the cabin, minding Malia and Jackson.”

Letting Lydia go he goes that way, a cabin appearing in the trees the closer he gets.

The door is wide open, and from it he can hear the sounds of two children, enjoying themselves as only children can. But the closer he gets the more those sounds fade away, the senses they inherited from their father kicking in and telling them someone strange is approaching, most likely.

He steps into the cabin to see Malia and Jackson standing stiff beside a table, both their eyes sun-gold as they stare at him, they’re growling softly, but there’s confusion on their faces; and he wonders if somehow they recognize his scent, but can’t recall from where.

But in the center of the cabin, which as Jordan glances around quickly he sees is just one large room, is the wolf, unsurprised and relaxed in his seat. Perhaps he’d heard every word Jordan and Lydia had shared outside.

“Forester,” the wolf inclines his head slightly.

Jordan shakes his head. “I gave the job up the day you took my wife away. I’m nothing more than Jordan Parrish now.”

The wolf stands, and strides over to him, coming to stop only a handsbreath away. “And have you come to try and kill me Jordan Parrish? Or simply to take your wife away?”

While there is anger in Jordan, he doesn’t use it to try and hurt the wolf. Instead he grabs hold of the other male and kisses him; giving him every moment of frustration and denied passion that is only for him.

When they break apart there’s a considering look in the wolf’s eye. But Jordan has words for him still. “You take her from me or disappear like that again and I’ll hunt you down to the ends of the world and drag you back. Nail your hide above my fireplace and bury the rest of you in my garden, so I’ll always know where you are all the rest of my days.”

A smile splits the wolf’s lips, giving Jordan a flash of sharp teeth. “With a promise like that, how can I refuse?”

There's growling again from beside them and when Jordan looks it's to see Malia almost standing on top of them, shifted slightly and not happy. "Can we kill him daddy?"

Well, bloodthirsty but adorable.

"No Malia," Lydia's voice cuts into the conversation as she enters the cabin, empty tub in one hand, Liam wrapped in a towel in the other. "No one is killing my husband." She looks at Jordan pointedly. "Or my mate."

So that's what it was between them. He frowns, and arches an eyebrow.

Lydia huffs, even after eight years apart reading him. "I said you could try. But unless you've somehow managed to poison him, I don't think you _are_ going to kill him." She arches a questioning eyebrow back, definitely challenging him.

"They were doing the not mouth grooming thing." Jackson speaks for the first time, sounding slightly disgusted.

"It's called kissing sweetheart," she sets the tub down and goes over to ruffle his hair. "Now you and your sister wash you hands and we'll have dessert alright?"

The two children crow in delight, Liam joining in, though he seems to do it only because they're making a racket. Then they're dashing out of the cabin, leaving only the three of them and Liam.

Whom the wolf soon takes out of Lydia's arm and starts nuzzling; scent marking.

Lydia huffs again. “I’m certain you do that more for your benefit than his,” she tells him as she goes into the kitchen area and opens what Jordan realizes is an oven; the fire’s been put out, but heat still radiates from it as she pulls out something.

“Of course,” the wolf replies. “He’s too young to truly recognize scents.” Before Jordan fully comprehends it he’s being handed Liam. His body at least recalls how to properly hold a child—even if it’s been eight years—as he watches the wolf stalk up behind Lydia, pinning her torso and legs to the cabinets and counter with his own, very obviously rubbing his cock against her.

Jordan wonders if he should be hiding Liam’s eyes, or attempting to prevent Malia and Jackson from coming in when they’re done.

“But it’s also never too early for his instincts,” he rumbles.

For her own part Lydia’s hands are flat against the counter, elbows shaking as she fights not to fall onto it, a soft moaning-sigh falling from her lips.

Watching them now is almost exactly like that first night—though they haven’t dissolved into sex, yet. And Jordan feels like he’s stepped into something horribly private and dark just as then. It takes all his now formidable willpower to pull his gaze away from them and look instead at Liam, who’s eyes are closed while his nose is stuck right in Jordan’s armpit, sniffing. “What?” He asks quietly. “Are you learning my scent now too?” Of course, Liam’s too young to respond.

“A good scent to learn,” the wolf responds, surprising Jordan by its nearness. When he looks up he sees Lydia cutting up what looks like a loaf of bread, seeming as if nothing untoward at all just happened; while the wolf himself is at a seat at the table. He gestures to one of the others as Malia and Jackson come rushing back in. “After all, it’ll be good for him to know the scent of the one helping his mother to look after him.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Jordan’s not sure if sounding incredulous or not is a good thing. He shakily takes his seat, focusing on Lydia as she serves the twins two slices of the bread slathered in butter.

A leg, far too warm to be anyone’s but the wolf’s, wraps around one of Jordan’s own; effectively trapping him. “He’s still too young to take out hunting with the other pups. And someone needs to help Lydia look after the place while we’re gone.”

Malia and Jackson, who are probably only following the barest hint of the conversation, still gain matching looks of excitement when their father mentions hunting trips. Lydia gives an affectionate sigh as she settles into Peter’s lap, nibbling on her own slice of bread and placing a plate with two more in front of Jordan.

He meets her eyes. “And you’re alright with that?” He may have come here to find them, but he finds he was expecting more than this.

Her eye roll sends a pang through him. “Of course. I _have_ missed you. And I’m still amazed you found us,” she reaches out and cups his cheek, out of the corner of his eye he can see the wolf’s grip on her change. “Stay with us. Let us help you find happiness again.”

In a way it feels like he’s been underwater for years and has just been offered a breath of air. “Yes.”

-

That night, after the pups had been tucked away in their little nest, he isn't surprised when Jordan pointly puts himself between him and Lydia in the bed. He watches in interest as Jordan pins her to the bed, her scent grows ripe as he thrusts against her once. "I do believe it's high time you carried one of my children," Jordan growls; and he can't help but smile as Lydia moans softly, legs falling open in complete surrender to her husband.

Yes, this will work out perfectly, he thinks as he moves himself. Settling behind their thrusting and shuddering bodies, enjoying greatly how Jordan starts—so much like their first time together—as he grips the man's ass and reveals one of his favourite places on his other lover.

He's more than willing to let husband and wife reacquaint themselves, but that didn't mean he was going to be passive.


End file.
